the other day while cooking lunch, we noticed a dog wandering around the campground. white and brown, lean; a hunting dog, clearly. she had a tracking collar on (they have a large box with an antennae sticking out of it) and another leather collar. we watched as she got closer and seemed interested in something under our car. sniffing, pawing….I was afraid it was a dead animal, but she popped her head up with a piece of wheat bread in her mouth. after eating that one, she went back and got another. apparently a loaf of bread had fallen out of our car when we were unloading, and she was hungry.
xan went and grabbed the bag from under the car, occasionally tossing another piece to the dog who was still lingering around. after a while, we went back to eating our lunch and building a fire, going about our day and not giving much more thought to our new friend.
about an hour later, I was heading a short ways from our site to gather some wood and the bright white of the dog, nestled in under the magnolias and vines and tall pine trees caught my eye. as I approached her I noticed she was shaking. the temps were about in the high 40’s, and in the dampness of the woods it was very chilly.
I called xander over, and we decided we’d better call and get her owner. clearly the tracking device wasn’t working and this little gal was lost.
getting a signal to the phones is futile out here, so we unhooked the car from the tent and xander drove about 25 minutes up the road until he could get a connection.
after several dropped calls he finally got through.
“Is this Ryan B***r?”
“Uhhh, no?”
“Wait, is this Ryan? I called the number on the tag that had your name on it. we have your dog”
“Aw, heck I thought you was a bill collector!”
after telling him where we were, he said he’d be there in 15 minutes (which in the south means thirty)….so in about a half hour, a mud caked white pick up truck pulled up (of course it was a white pick up) and out of it jumped Ryan and the cutest little mini version of Ryan, about 3 years old, both decked head to toe in camo and boots and southern hospitality.
the dog, who had seemed depressed and forlorn all day, perked up, as if to sense his cause was not lost as he smelled the familiar scent of “his people” when they exited the truck.
I asked the little one, “Is that your dog?
“yes, m’am” came the sweetest little southern drawl.
“What’s her name?”
“Bobbie”
“well I hope it’s ok we fed her some bread”
“yes, m’am”
Bobbie struggled to lift herself up—something was wrong with her back right hip—and the tail started wagging for the first time.
the two southern gentlemen each grabbed her collars and escorted her to the truck, thanking us over and over again….explaining along the way that her collar must have dead batteries, that they had been looking for her since last night.
they loaded her into a cage in the back, and off they went.
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about two hours later, while making dinner, xander sees another dog come sniffing his way into the campground.
brown and white, hunting dog, tracking collar.
sniffing around…on the trail of something…..wandering in circles…searching.
“you’ve got to be kidding me!” xander yells, throwing his hands up in the air.
the dog looked his way, head cocked as if to say:
“bobbie said something about some bread?”
All images © 2013-2016 Jeannie M. Starks / two daisies life
two daisies / life 